


The Haunting of Malfoy Manor

by JessIllumination



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creepy, F/M, Halloween, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Mention of suicide of side character(s), Post-War, Sexual Content, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27006601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessIllumination/pseuds/JessIllumination
Summary: Malfoy Manor, not sane, stood upon the rocks of Wiltshire, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eight hundred years and might stand for eight hundred more.An odd combination of people - including Draco and Hermione - were called to Malfoy Manor for different reasons. And they were trapped inside. It seemed a sacrifice had to be made if they wanted to break the curse and make it out alive.On HIATUS
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	1. Alohomora

**Author's Note:**

> The reason for this piece is - Halloween's on the way!
> 
> The first paragraph is a tribute for - or, if put in a brazen way, is mostly copied and pasted from - Shirley Jackson’s novel The Haunting of Hill House, a masterpiece of psychological ghost story similar in genre to Henry Jame’s The Turn of the Screw (also one of my favs) 
> 
> This story is inspired by the BOOK not the SHOW but won’t exactly follow the plots in the book. 
> 
> I own nothing and this is only writing for fun (●ﾟωﾟ●)

* * *

Malfoy Manor, not sane, stood upon the rocks of Wiltshire, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eight hundred years and might stand for eight hundred more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Malfoy Manor, and whatever walked there, walked alone.

Mr. Montague was a studious man with vast knowledge in the history of dark magic connected to ancient households of Britain. Over the last few decades he had been searching around the country for traces of the remaining dark magic from the first and the second wizarding wars. After a long, hard and fruitless period of research, he stumbled across Malfoy Manor and was glad to see that it was put up for rent.

From what he gathered from the scrapes of news and rumours, the Malfoy family no longer reside in the Manor anymore since 1998. They had been leasing the house to rich American wizarding families since then. They were intrigued by the history of the house, and didn’t care about the haunting stories. If any, those stories only added to the allure.

Mr. Montague certainly wasn’t going to let go of a perfect researching subject such as Malfoy Manor. It cost him a great deal of Galleons and - _fucking hell_ \- three realtors and two lawyers, to convince the Malfoys to rent the Manor to him for three months.

The Malfoys only wanted to offer a one-year lease, and argued that hitherto nobody had ever rented the house for a shorter term. But they yielded to Mr. Montague’s terms eventually.

Mr. Montague’s realtor secretly told him that it was because “nobody wants to rent that ridiculously large Manor now.”

Nothing was reported by the _Daily Prophet_ or other press. Luckily, the Malfoys had the media in their deep pockets. However, they had no control over the rumours and gossips that had been spreading like wildfire in the country. After the brutal, gruesome, and fatal incidents happened to the last three families lived in Malfoy Manor consecutively, even the Americans were having second thoughts. They might be daring and thrill-seeking, but they weren’t _stupid_.

People believe that extraordinary things had been occurring in Malfoy Manor since 1998, or even earlier; and somehow, directly or indirectly, the Manor had driven some members of the previous tenants’ families insane.

Without exception, they all attempted to kill themselves. Or worse, attempted to kill their own family.

One of them, a Mrs. Bard, hung herself down the steep, spiral metal stairs on the west wing right outside of her children’s play room.

The Bards moved out the next day. They didn’t care if they had violated the terms of the lease and had to pay a ton of gold.

When Mr. Montague rented Malfoy Manor for three months throughout the entire summer, he expected to be richly compensated for his work on the causes and effects of psychic disturbances in a house previously tainted with, or haunted, by the remains of dark magic from You-Know-Who’s wrathful dictatorship.

He went through the records of people who had been involved with incidents caused by dark magic related to Malfoy Manor. Then He eliminated the people who were dead, missing or seemed to be publicity seekers or charlatans. Eventually he came down to around a dozen of names.

Each of these short-listed people received a letter from Mr. Montague extending an invitation to spend the entire summer at a “ _luxury country house endowed with rich magical history in Wiltshire_ ”. Transportation would be covered; hot meals would be served daily, hot water would be available 24/7, and their bedrooms were fully prepared to satisfy their comfort during their stay.

Of course, they didn’t have to stay the whole three months. But during the stay, they were obliged to keep a detailed record on magical disturbances occurring in the house and note down the sorts of dark magic such events could possibly be connected to. Meanwhile they’d have full access to the Malfoy library should they need to consulting the old tomes.

From his dozen letters, Mr. Montague received four replies.

To the four who replied, Mr. Montague wrote again, naming a specific day when the house would be officially ready for occupancy, and enclosing specific details about how to locate and enter the house.

On the day he was to leave for Malfoy Manor, Mr. Montague was persuaded to take into his select company a representative of the family who owned the house.

“ _If you don’t mind terribly, Mr. Montague, my son Draco would like to pay a few quick visits to you during your stay_ ,” wrote Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy in her letter. “Surely you understand it is _merely a measure for precautions. Please don’t feel intervened in any way. Draco will stay out of your way. I sincerely wish you a perfectly splendid stay at Malfoy Manor._ ”

Narcissa’s hand was curiously slanting, forceful, almost intimidating.

And when she scribbled down the words “Malfoy Manor”, the two “ **M** ”s stood out black and strong and sinister, dwarfing the other letters.

Of course she had sent her son to spy on him, thought Mr. Montague angrily. Narcissa, that strong-headed, paranoid, and condescending woman. True, the purpose of his stay was unconventional. But he’d been quite candid about it in the beginning and explained everything through and through. But yet, still there was no trust.

He had stated clearly to Narcissa Malfoy a thousand times already. _Seriously, what does she imagine he was about to do? Burning it to the ground?_

 _“Dear Mrs. Malfoy,”_ he wrote in his reply to her. _“Please have faith that_ _I’m **not going to set your house on fiend fire and tear the place down**._ _I only meant to lead a_ ** _perfectly harmless_** _research project purely for academic purposes._ ”

He underlined and bolded the parts that he found hilarious.

Unfortunately, Narcissa Malfoy didn’t get the sarcasm nor shared his sense of humour.

As a result of his bad joke, he was told by her realtor that Draco Malfoy was going to stay with him and his research team for the entire three months. It was non-negotiable.

***

Hermione Granger was determined to prove the public _wrong_ about the haunting of the Malfoy Manor. That was why she accepted Montage’s invitation to join his research house this summer.

She believed his research was utterly baseless and ridiculous. However, she was willing to help him record the events, and at the same time she wanted to use the data for her own research - to prove that dark magic had nothing to do with the erratic behaviours of ghosts.

As a professor in Arithmancy at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione was a perfectly respectable young witch with deep knowledge and widely-recognized authority in her field of expertise. She had always felt that inexplicable psychic disturbances were just as dubious and unreliable as Divination.

Ghosts were solid, and sensible. Like everything else in the world, when there was a consequence there must be _a reason_.

She wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about spending her summer in Malfoy Manor for apparently reasons; it wasn’t exactly the idealist place for a vacation.

However, she cared more about research projects than her own enjoyment and comfort. This opportunity seemed interesting enough to her and perhaps could be the source for her next researching topic on ghost’s behavioral studies.

She was going to prove Montague and his obsession wrong.

She knew she was going to.

***

Hermione apparated to the village five miles away from Malfoy Manor.

Mr. Montague’s letter said that they could apparate to the edge of the estate, and walk towards the house. But hell, he didn’t say that it was a five-mile-walk.

_Does he find it funny to forget mentioning this little piece of information?_

_If he does, then he certainly has a sicker sense of humour than Ron._

Looking at the burning sun on the brilliantly blue sky, Hermione let out a long sigh and decided to eat something at the pub before she start the hiking.

Hermione pushed in and the bell tinkled; it was dim and cool inside, the air was filled with a comfortable buzzing noise. A elder male bartender was drying some glasses behind the high brown bar.

Hermione climbed onto a stool and sat by the bar. The bartender greeted her nicely with a nod, and brought her the menu and a glass of ice water.

Hermione wasn’t very hungry; she wasn’t looking forward to drink in the middle of the day either, so she ordered a glass of ice tea, and a platter of cheese, salami and chips.

She nibbled on the food and finished the ice tea, and then she asked for a cup of coffee.

When she finished the coffee, she checked her watch, and asked for the bill.

And then - one of the possibly most awkward moments in one’s life happened to her, and it took her five seconds to believe that it was true - she didn’t have her wallet with her.

Well, she had Galleons and Sickles in her leather money bag, but she had forgotten her wallet in which she kept her muggle’s money. She had this habit of always carrying around some pounds just in case, but today, to her absolute horror and mortification, she had forgotten it.

Her brain recovered from the initial shock, and quickly went through what happened since this morning when she left her flat. Very soon she located the cause - she decided to switch her usual shoulder bag when she packed her things. Her usual one was a bit battered; she was very comfortable with it, but it was a bit worn and out-dated. She wanted to use the new bag she bought not long ago to look nicer among the small group of strangers she was about to meet in the Malfoy Manor. It might not be entirely true but sometimes a more expensive bag was a better suit of armour for a woman at work.

And, as it always happens to everybody, when she switched her bag, she forgot to put something back in.

And damn, and _The Village Idiot_ was a muggle’s pub.

Her brain went blank, and her blood froze.

Perhaps she should just transfigure the saucer into some fivers, but it was illegal to use magic to scam muggles and avoid payment.

And finally, she smiled nervously at the bartender, “I’m terribly, terribly sorry. It seemed that I forgot my money at home. I swear to Mer - I swear to God that I didn’t mean it to happen -”

The bartender stared at her. “But you’ve got to pay, ma’am,” he said flatly.

“I…” Hermione swallowed, “I can’t. Do you take credits? I swear I’ll come back later to pay you.”

“Can’t do that, love,” said the bartender. “Have you got a credit card? If you remember the information of your credit card, I’m sure that’ll do.”

_Bugger._

Although Hermione knew perfectly well what was a credit card and how did it work, she hadn’t gotten one.

Perhaps she could hit him with an Imperius curse - well, that would be illegal too. And a lot worse than transfiguring her saucer…

“I’ll take care of that,” said a man’s voice from behind. His voice was low, husky, and faintly familiar. But before she could manage to locate in her brains where did she hear his voice before, a nice, slender hand laid down a score on the bar, “keep the change.”

A young man in a black shirt with striking white-blond hair sat down on the stool next to her. Hermione gasped in surprise when her eyes met his grey eyes - those were also familiar, actually exceedingly familiar.

She closed her mouth.

Draco Malfoy was looking at her with a hint of slightly half-amused, half-scornful smile on his thin, delicate lips.

She hadn’t seen him for quite a while. She saw him from time to time at the Ministry when she was working there, but since she went to work in Hogwarts a year ago she’d never seen him again.

“Draco,” said the bartender with a friendly laugh, “Haven’t seen you around in quite a while! What have you been up to eh?”

“Just here and there. Family business. The usual shit,” said Draco with casually. “Can I have the usual?”

“Right away,” said the bartender. He reached for a tall glass and opened the beer tab for some local brew. “Here you go.”

“Thank, Wyatt,” said Draco. He took a sip from his forming beer.

“Um, thanks,” she said. “I’ll give that back to you. You don’t mind if I give you Galleons in stead?”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Consider it’s my ticket to the show,” he teased.

“The show?” She lifted her brows.

“To watch the brightest witch of our age walking into a pub and forgetting to bring any money,” he raised his glass at her jestingly.

“Very funny,” she rolled her eyes.

He snorted, and had another sip from his cold beer.

“Do you do this for every girl?” Said Hermione in irritation.

“Only the pretty ones,” he said smoothly, the smile on his lips deepened.

Hermione scoffed and looked away. She didn’t want to smile but the corners of her lips curled up.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked. “Snooping around my property?”

“I’m here at the invitation of Mr. Montague for a research project at the Manor,” said Hermione loftily.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” he groaned, stared at her, and put down the glass on the bar with a loud chink. “Montague? That nasty fellow drove me bonkers!”

“Why?” Hermione chuckled slightly. “He must’ve done something right.”

“Because he’s planning to turn my house upside down in search of dark magic related ghosts,” he snorted. “So you are one of his guests? What a lovely surprise.”

“Told you he invited me,” said Hermione. “What’re _you_ doing here?”

“My mum told me to keep an eye on that nutter,” he sneered. “I’d rather be anywhere on earth than being stuck in that bloody house for the next three months. Who else is on board? D’you know?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t know who else’s coming.”

“I just hope they’re not as insufferable as Montague,” he said. “But you’re tolerable enough.”

“Hmm,” said Hermione, her large, clear hazel eyes gleamed coyly. “I suppose business is not going well?”

“What?”

“You don’t have to lease the Manor to Montague if you find him quite insufferable,” she pointed out sharply. “The only reason is that you’re in need of cash.”

“Well,” said Draco with a devious smile that curled the corner of his lips, and then he shifted in his seat, towering over her, and put one hand on the back of her stool. His movement was supple, graceful. His scent, masculine, slightly sweaty, smelled of the dry grass and earth under the scorching July sun was suddenly all over her. She was caught off guard. She was drenched, drowned, and there was no escape.

She felt his hot breath on the sensitive skin behind her ear; her breath grew faster, her heart missed a beat when she inhaled deeply and tasted something surprisingly pleasant and fresh like the summer breeze on a dewy morning in a forest. She smelled mint and soap, and the intoxicating, radiating heat from his skin. _His fucking skin._

She swallowed and blinked rapidly.

The smile further deepened on his his soft lips. His grey eyes flashed with taunt, jest, the slightest ripples of triumph, and he drawled, “already worrying about my family’s financial situation, know-it-all? We haven’t had our first date yet.”

Hermione glared at him.

Of course she wouldn’t assume that he was actually flirting with her. This was just typical of him, the notorious play boy in Wizarding London. He flirted with all the single witches in her office when she was working in the Ministry. It was irksome.

She gave a loud laugh - perhaps a bit too forced -to hide the sudden uneasiness and flustering the unexpected physical closeness had brought on her. She wasn’t going to show it. She wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.

It must be the heat, she thought. The heat had made her dizzy and light-headed.

“I’m heading out,” she said, gathering her things. She only had one hand bag but it was extended with magic and she had taken everything in it. “Enjoy your drink.”

“How do you plan to go to the house?” He asked, eyeing her.

“Walk,” she shrugged.

He shook his head incredulously, “d’you see the sun out side? You must be raving mad if you plan to walk five miles.”

“Well then, do you have a better plan? Your family has made it impossible to apparate within the estate -”

“Oh for the love of Merlin,” he said, and finished his beer with a few large gulps, “come on. I’ll drive you.”

She went outside of the pub with him, and realized he had a car.

It was like one of those Ministry cars, black, plain, solid and practical, and magically moderated inside. They sat inside, and he ignited the engine with a tap of the wand.

Hermione rolled down the car window as they drove along a long dirt drive way with green bushes and large elm trees on both sides. The road was winding and long. It seemed endless. She looked outside, and was interested to see some scattered hamlets, and large herds of of cows wandering and grazing in the green fields.

“Are those magical villages?” She asked curiously.

“Of course,” he said. “The Malfoy estate is probably the largest magic-only farm lands in the country. We produce forty percent of dairy products in Wizarding England.”

Hermione knew vaguely that his family was in some trade business.

“Where’re the rest sixty from?” She asked.

“America, Australia, New Zealand, Canada,” he shrugged. “I deal with some importing.”

“Sound great,” said Hermione. “I didn’t even know that you actually work.”

She only meant it as a neutral comment, but somehow it came out wrong. It sounded scornful.

“I don’t mean-” She began.

“It’s all right,” he gave a laugh.

She looked at him in slight amazement, thinking that she’d never seen him like this - driving in the blazing sunlight under the brilliantly blue summer sky along a dirty country road, with the green arch of tree branches above their heads; and he was laughing almost vividly, brightly and openly. This wasn’t the Draco Malfoy she knew from Hogwarts, nor the Draco Malfoy she knew from the war. Hell, this wasn’t even the Draco he knew from the Ministry since she was never on personal terms with him.

Time could change people, she mused. She knew that he’d been different, but this was the first time she got to see this new side of him for herself.

It felt…curiously refreshing.

When they reached the black wrought iron gates after fifteen minutes, the gates were locked and the Manor seemed deserted. The tall hedges lined up on both sides of the gravel drive were green and impeccably trimmed, but there was nobody in the garden. There was something eerily quiet and still in the air.

Malfoy Manor, the ancient, magnificent mansion towered over the drive, the large oak doors locked and all of the mullioned windows latched. Those forlorn, ghostly windows stared back as if there was something alive prowling behind the darkness, watching them silently, patiently, waiting for the prey to walk into a trap.

Hermione shook her head to break out of this trance.

No, she couldn’t surrender to such delusional, ominous feelings. Whatever haunted the house, she was sure there must be a rational explanation. A poltergeist, perhaps, who liked to tiptoe behind shut doors and gave people creeps for fun.

“Don’t tell me we’re the first ones to come,” muttered Draco. He stopped the car, his browed knitted together in slight agitation.

Hermione stepped out of the car with him. She shivered immediately, and so did he.

And then she looked up at the sky. The sun, which was absolutely burning hot five minutes ago, had faded behind the large grey patches of clouds. The temperature had dropped drastically.

“Bloody hell,” Draco cursed under his breath as if he was speaking to himself. He looked up at the house with a complicated mixture of feelings on his distorted face - detest, reluctance, disgust, and something vaguely looked like a strange, conflicted nostalgia.

He pushed the wrought iron gates violently in anger, and then he kicked it and cursed more.

“Step aside,” said Hermione firmly, and pulled out her wand.

“I don’t think you can open it with -” said Draco impatiently.

_“Alohomora!”_

She tapped her wand on the large padlock and said shrilly. The heavy padlock clicked, and fell onto the gravel road along with the chains. The gates flung open.

“Let’s get inside,” said Draco after a pause. There was an uneasiness in his voice. He sounded strained, “wait for me at the front door, will you? I’ll park the car first.”

She nodded at him absently. She felt oddly subdued as if part of her energy was drained from her. And it dawned on her that perhaps she had been arrogant. Perhaps she had underestimated what was going on in this house.

Her wand hand dropped to her side listlessly. Her fingers felt cold and numb. She had a strangely stinging, intuitive feeling that this house was waiting for her, calling to her, _starving for her_.

_“Alohomora.”_

She heard a feather-light voice from the depth of somewhere beneath her feet, echoing, spinning in her head.

She stumbled forward. She tried to call Draco but she couldn’t make a sound like person trapped in sleep paralysis.

Her head hit the hard gravel road. A soft, cool, and eerily soothing darkness consumed her like waves of dark water.

She lost consciousness.


	2. Point Me

When Hermione’s consciousness returned to her, she was confused and disoriented. Having no idea who she was or where she was, she fluttered her eyes open and looked around. A sharp pang came from the side of her head, and her face distorted. It was the migraine again. 

She was lying on a soft bed on top of a floral duvet with a woolen blanket on her. She felt warm. A fire was cracking gently next to her, casting dancing firelight and shadows to the dark green carpet in the room. 

Slowly she propped herself up on her elbow. She was in a bedroom - nothing too grand, but reasonably cozy and spacious. Deep velvet drapes hanging down from the old-fashioned four-poster. The emerald curtains were open and pulled to the sides, a layer of thin white muslin curtains were hanging down in front of the mullioned windows.

The furnitures in the room were simple - a bed, two bedside tables, a chest of drawers and closet, an armchair and a small table by the window, and a small sofa by the fire. There was a door open to a washroom.

She checked herself, she was still fully dressed.

Then she looked at the watch. It was nine in the evening. The sky outside wasn’t dark yet, but it was quite windy and gloomy. 

Her wand was on one of the bedside tables. She grabbed it and stuffed it back into her pocket, and then slowly slid off the bed. The pang in the side of her head was now pounding her nerves.

She used the washroom quickly, took a vial of pain relief potion that she always carried with her when traveling, and then left the bedroom.

It was a quiet, deserted corridor with dark oak panels on walls and ceilings. The floor was fully carpeted. There were other doors along the way.

She walked down the corridor, and reached a dark, descending wooden staircase. She assumed it wasn’t the main stairs leading to the foyer, because she remembered vaguely that it was marble, not wooden.

At the bottom of the stairs there was a green door. She twisted the bronze door knob and opened it, and much to her surprise, she came to an open area with very high ceilings. The ceiling was so high that it must be able to fit a cathedral inside of it.

She walked on, her heels clicking on the wooden floor crisply.

She looked around in awe, and realized that the walls was filled with books. Thousands and thousands of books.

And on the right side there was a steep, dark, metal staircase leading to the top. It was so steep that it made her dizzy just by staring at it.

She made it across the library, and opened the pair of large, and grand oak doors.

And then she was in the foyer, with the magnificent marble main stairs on her right side, and an extravagant chandelier with countless shimmering crystals and emerald gems above her head.

Her eyes fell on another pair of grand doors on the other side of the foyer, and swallowed in uneasiness.

She knew what was behind those doors.

It was the drawing room. She was tortured in that place during the war. It looked like it was locked. She could feel it from the strong magic vibe in the air.

She heard some faint noise of people walking and chairs scraping the floor. She walked down a corridor behind the marble staircases, and saw a door left ajar with lights coming from behind.

She pushed the door open gently, and froze at the sight of a most impossible combination of people sitting around a very long, rectangular dining table in a luxurious dining room.

The first person she saw was Luna Lovegood. The blonde witch’s eyes widened when she saw her and smiled instantly.

Sitting a few seats away from her were two Slytherins - she hadn’t seen them since she left school. It had been a few years but she recognized them instantly nevertheless.

The tall, thin young man with combed back honey brown hair, and a sullen, brooding face was Theodore Nott. Next to him sat Blaise Zabini. He was dark-haired, more heavily-built than Nott, and with a friendlier demeanor.

And opposite to the pair of them sat Draco and a black-haired, haughty young woman in silver robes. She looked at Hermione with clear distain in her arrogant eyes, and sniggered.

Well, if that wasn’t the very Pansy Parkinson.

Theodore made a little snorting noise.

“Is someone going to break the silence or we’re just going to stare at each other for the rest of the evening?” he said sharply with a bit of malice in his tone.

Pansy leaned towards Draco and whispered something to his ear and sneered. But Draco’s face remained expressionless.

Luna pulled out a seat next to her. Hermione looked at her gratefully, and sat down.

“You really fainted, Granger?” Said Pansy scornfully, her black eyes gleamed at her contemptuously. “You actually fainted?”

Hermione ignored her, and looked around the room again. “What is going on?” She asked, “where’s Mr. Montague?”

“That bastard never arrived,” said Theodore lazily.

“I am also his guest,” said Luna. Her voice was airy, musical, and strangely soothing to Hermione’s nerves. “I guess we both received his invitation because of what happened during the war.”

“I see,” Hermione nodded. “But why didn’t Montague arrive?”

“Merlin knows,” muttered Blaise. He shot a quick glance at Draco, who was still staringsilently into the void in front of him with a pale, strained face.

“So,” said Hermione, trying to figure out the situation. “You’re all invited to this research project?”

“Yes and no, sweetheart,” Theodore drawled. His dark eyes were impatient, hostile even. “Pansy only came because she thought this would be a perfect chance to hook up with her ex again-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Pansy snapped at him, crossing her arms in front of her defensively.

Draco didn’t even look up.

“I was invited by Montague and I was interested -” began Blaise. His voice sounded deep, reassuring.

“Oh come on,” Theo interjected, “you only came because you’re bored out of your fucking mind.”

“Then why the hell are you here?” Blaise glared at him.

“Well, nobody invited me,” shrugged Theo. “I heard you and Draco and Pan are coming, so I assumed it must be a party going on. Turns out my _best mate_ wanted to throw me out.”

He finished the last sentence from gritted teeth and glared at Draco.

“This isn't a bloody party,” hissed Draco. “I’m here on a fucking job and you don’t just come here to screw around. Got it?”

“Ouch,” said Theo dramatically, “that hurt! Did it ever occur to you that I've got feelings?”

“I was instructed not to intervene with Mr. Montague’s research team, and you two aren’t supposed to be here at all!” Draco's cold glance fell on Pansy, and then on Theo.

“I wonder if Mr. Montague is running late,” mused Luna in a dreamy tone.

“I sent an owl to my mother,” said Draco. “I’ll let her deal with him. Mostly likely he’ll arrive tomorrow morning.”

“Sloppy mate, isn’t him?” Laughed Theo. “Not reliable at all.”

“You two can stay the night,” Draco got back to his feet abruptly, and pushed his chair back with a loud screeching noise. “But you have to leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Message received,” said Theo lazily, and rolled his eyes, “now, what about a party?”

“Finish your food and go back to your room,” said Draco.

Hermione just realized that the empty silver plates were filled with creamy onion soup and with bread on the side and a roast beef sandwich in another plate.

She picked up a spoon and began eating. She didn’t care about table manners. She was simply starving.

“Malfoy,” said Luna suddenly. “Is there another guest in your house?”

“What do you mean?” Said Draco.

“When I came I saw a woman in white staring down at me from the gallery on the second floor flight,” said Luna with a shrug. “I said hello.”

With a loud “dang”, Theodore dropped his spoon on the floor.

***

They went back to their rooms after they all finished eating.

When they walked together through the quiet, echoing library with extremely high ceiling, Pansy looked around at that steep spiral stairs and said, “so that was where the woman from the last tenant's family hanged herself after killing her husband?”

“Merlin’s fucking-” Cursed Theodore, and jumped away from the stairs.

Hermione found it amusing that his lips had turned slightly white.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually scared, Theo,” chuckled Pansy.

“I’m certainly not!” barked Theodore.

“Mr. Nott,” said Luna politely, “can I have my hand back?”

“What?” Theodore looked up, and jumped again when he realized he was holding Luna’s hand.

He let go of her, ears went red a little, and walked quickly forward. Blaise let out a snort.

“He’s got a phobia for ghosts and dead bodies,” Blaise told Hermione and Luna. “Just don’t laugh at him in his face, will you?”

“I’ll try,” said Hermione.

All of them were staying in the same corridor.

“Hmm,” said Pansy, turning aside to look at Draco. “I remember you didn't live here before.”

“No,” said Draco simply. “This side of the house is for guests. The rooms are smaller.”

“Why don’t we get the bigger rooms?” Asked Pansy.

“Montague feels the west wing, where our old rooms were, is most haunted,” said Draco. “It’s nonsense, of course.”

Pansy laughed, but Hermione felt slightly uneasy.

Theo looked uneasy as well. Luna cast a quick look at him pensively.

Blaise nodded at Draco thoughtfully and said, “well, let’s go to bed then. Good night.”

They all said good night, and went into their rooms.

Luna’s room was next to Hermione’s, and Draco’s room was on the opposite of hers.

Pansy seemed want to follow Draco, but he shut his door in front of her face.

***

Hermione stood under the shower, watching the steaming water splashed on her soft, white skin.

She still couldn’t quite believe that she was having a fucking shower in Malfoy Manor.

Everything seemed so mixed up. Nobody knew what exactly was going on, and nobody particularly wanted to be here - well, probably except Pansy.

Draco certainly wished he could spend his summer else where. Theo thought Draco was going to throw a party with the old Slytherin gang. Only Luna and Blaise came for the same purpose with her. But where was Montague? He’d never arrived. And there was no letter from anybody explaining his whereabouts or what had delayed him.

Stepping out of the shower, Hermione changed into her sleeping gown, dried up her hair and got under the duvet of the four-posters.

She couldn’t remember when was the last time she’d slept in an old-fashioned four-poster. And she’d definitely never slept on a bed with green curtains around it.

Gradually she drifted into sleep.

She wasn’t sure how long she’s slept, but when she woke up with a sudden start, it was still pitch dark in the room.

She stared into the darkness, panting with a sudden panic, wondering what had woken her.

Slowly, stealthily, insidiously, there came the thudding of footsteps on the corridor out of her room. The sound came closer and closer. She heard something scraping on the wall. Something sharp.

She froze for a second, and then she leapt out of her bed to check if her room was safely locked.

And then she jumped back into her bed, tucking herself under the duvet, listening to the noises from out of her door intently. It was coming closer, close, and closer...

It made a stop once in a while. Hermione had an odd feeling that it was checking every room…

The footsteps stopped outside of her room.

Hermione held her breath, waiting for it - whatever it was - to leave.

She heart raced up when she heard heavy, raspy, monstrous panting from behind the door. The room was so quiet, and the entire house was asleep, until -

A series of maddening, thunderous poundings came as if someone was trying to smash her door open. Hermione couldn’t help it but letting out a shrieking scream. And then came the sound of metal scraping on the wood - it felt as if someone was trying to use an axe to break into her room.

She sat up in her bed, held her head with both hands and screamed -

“STOP IT! JUST FUCKING STOP IT!”

She heard rapid footsteps and objects thudding on the floors from other rooms. She crawled across the bed to fetch her wand. And then, all of the sudden, the disturbances outside of her room stopped.

Everything was quiet again. And she couldn’t stop sobbing.

There was a jumble of footsteps and people’s voices talking outside, and then came another horrified scream; she heard Theodore’s voice cursing, “the fuck is that? Draco, d’you see that? Merlin’s fucking bollocks -”

“It can’t be,” it was Blaise’s voice. “Why would someone do that? Did any of you -”

“Are you accusing me?” Yelled Theo.

“Where’s Pan?”

“I don’t know! In her room, perhaps. Sleeping like a log -”

“Granger,” someone rapped on her door, it was Draco’s voice. And he rapped again, “Granger! Are you all right?”

There was no reply. Hermione opened her mouth and tried to make a sound, but only came out a feeble whimper. The shock was still over her. And her face was covered in tears.

“Draco, I don’t think you should-” Said Blaise.

“Piss off,” said Draco angrily, “Alohomora!”

With a click, her door flung open and Draco rushed in.

She wiped the tears off her face with the back of her hands and looked away. She didn’t want them to see her like this.

“Hey,”he sat down on the side of her bed, and placed a hand on her arm. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

Hermione shook her head, still didn’t speak. His palm felt warm, firm, and reassuring.

“Good,” he seemed relieved, and slightly gave her arm a squeeze, “good.”

Theo, Blaise and Luna came into her room as well. All of them in night gowns, looking pasty, shaken, and terrified.

Hermione’s teary, hazel eyes fixed on the outside of her door which was flung open towards inside the room. There were deep marks of scrapes on the wood. It was badly marked and in quite a mess, but it wasn’t hard to tell what the letters were -

“MUDBLO”

“What is that?” She said. Her voice was trembling.

“I think...” said Luna. She was in a yellow night gown and her long, cascade of blonde hair fell down her shoulders. “I think they didn’t get the time to finish the word before they escaped.”

Hermione looked at her. She had stopped crying. Her brains had slowly returned to work.

Mudblood.

It had to be.

And all of them seemed reluctant to say the word in front of her face. 

There was a long, hard silence in the room.

“Lovegood,” said Draco. “Did you say before that you saw someone, a woman in white, in the house?”

“Yes,” said Luna airily. “And I just saw her again before I came into Hermione’s room. She smiled at me at the end of the corridor.”

“Bloody hell,” said Theodore. “I’m out of this place. I’m going home.”

“Wait,” said Blaise impatiently. “Don’t be a pussy. I think we should stay together. At least for tonight.”

Theodore panted against the wall, his hair was falling apart. “Fine,” he muttered. “Fine. But I’m going to need a smoke and some hot chocolate.”

***

They didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. Draco called the house-elf to bring up the hot chocolates for them. 

They brought blankets and curled together in Hermione’s room. They tried a lot of spells to erase the letters carved into Hermione’s door, but none of them worked.

“Tell me more about this women you saw, Lovegood,” said Theodore.

“She’s tall, slender, and beautiful,” said Luna. She seemed quite lucid, and least influenced of them all. “I just don’t feel any malice in her. You know. She’s like one of the Hogwarts ghosts. She’s friendly.”

“But we’ve never had any ghosts in the Manor,” said Draco. “I grew up here. I know.”

“I spent a few summers here when I was a kid,” said Theo. “If there’s any ghost here I’d never stay.”

“This is bewildering,” said Blaise thoughtfully. He stared into the dancing flames in the hearth. “I’ve never seen anywhere that ghosts can be so violent.”

“Clearly you've never met the ghosts in Malfoy Manor,”snorted Theo. “The most violent, loud, sadistic bastard of a ghost in the entire Britain. Perhaps that Montague chap had a point. The dark magic residue in this place did a number on those transparent fuckers.”

“No,” Hermione said. “Our magic, dark or not dark, won’t influence the ghosts behabiours. I've read about it.”

“What about we ask the lady in white?” Said Luna. “Perhaps she knew something.”

“No bloody way,”said Theo. “Are you what, _suicidal_?”

“I think it’s a reasonable thing to do.”

“No it’s not,” said Theo, suddenly getting angry. “And don’t try it on your own. It’s not safe.”

“I think Luna’s right,”said Hermione. 

“Great!” Said Luna, “do you want to go out and look for her now?”

“NO!!!” roared the three boys together.

There was a short silence in the room.

And then - Hermione wasn’t sure how it happened or who chuckled first - they all started to laugh. They laughed so hard and loud and for a moment, the shadows on Hermione's heart seemed to be gone. 

When the sunrise came, they fell asleep on the floor. Draco was in the armchair, his head propped back against the wall. Blaise was on the floor by the foot of her bed. And Luna -

Hermione arched an eye brow.

Luna was on the small sofa. Her hand fell down and was held tightly by Theodore, who was sprawling and snoring on the floor.

***

When they went downstairs for breakfast, it was around one o'clock in the afternoon.

Pansy, who had risen a few hours before them, was reading a book in the corner of the library on her own.

They sat in the dinner room, and the food appeared in the silver plates in front of them.

“Still no news from your mother or Montague?” Asked Theo.

Draco shook his head. He looked worried.

There was a thick fog outside of the window. It had drenched the entire front yard. They couldn’t even see the wrought iron gates from the house.

“Anyway,”said Theo. “Blaise and I want to leave after breakfast -”

“Brunch,” said Blaise.

“Whatever, mate,” said Theo impatiently. “Who else are leaving?”

“All of us,” said Draco. “I assume.”

They finished the breakfast in silence, and went upstairs to pack their things. Pansy seemed strangely quiet and listless. Even though she had been sleeping the entire night, there were two large dark circled under her eyes. And when she passed Hermione’s door, where the huge, messy “MUDBLO” was carved into the wood, Hermione noticed that she shivered slightly and walked away quickly.

They walked out of the manor with their luggage.

Theo came with a car as well. Blaise and Pansy got into his car. Hermione and Luna went into Draco’s.

Draco drove on first, and Theo’s car followed. Both Hermione and Luna were in the front seat. They looked forward as Draco drove along the gravel drive way with the tall, impeccably trimmed hedges on both sides.

There was an intense anxiety in the air. But nobody wanted to say a word because it would only make it worse.

It was after five minutes when Luna broke the silence.

“Draco,” she said. “We should’ve reached the gate.”

“Yes,” said Draco. His voice was abrupt, rough, almost afraid.

But they were still driving.

The foggy gravel driveway went on and on and on. It seemed it was never going to end.

With a sharp braking sound, Draco brought the car to a stop. His hands were on the steering wheel, his face looking up and his grey eyes filled with sudden, inexplicable horror -

Malfoy Manor was in front of them again.

They’d circled back, although they didn’t take a turn.

“Oh my God,” said Hermione.

“Morgana’s braids,” said Luna. She grabbed Hermione's arm. 

“I don’t believe it,” said Draco in a frenzy, and started the car again. He reversed the car, and made a sharp U turn that caused both Hermione and Luna scream.

“Draco!” Said Hermione, “stop!”

“No!” he said, “I don’t fucking believe this…”

He stepped on the gas pedal and sped up. The car shot out again, much faster than last time. And after five minutes of driving straight ahead, the huge shadow of Malfoy Manor appeared again.

And then he did it again, and again, every time they ended up back in front of the Manor.

Theo, Blaise and Pansy were back as well. They stood out of the car with pale, terrified faces.

“I think…” said Blaise, bending down when Draco drove back towards the Manor for the last time, and opened the car door for him. “I think we’re trapped here.”

They walked out. Their boots stepped on the gravel road and made an oddly loud, crunchy noise.

"No," said Draco. "No way. No bloody way..."

“What do we do?” Said Pansy shrilly. “I want to go home!”

“Do you think we’re trapped here for eternity?” Asked Luna in a casual, cool tone. 

Theo swayed on his heels; for a moment he seemed too scared to curse anymore.

“It’s your fault, Draco!” Screamed Pansy suddenly. She seemed to be a little bit unhinged. She took a step forward, and shoved Draco on the shoulder. “It’s all your fault! You should’ve known there’s something wrong about your own fucking house!”

“I didn’t know!” snapped Draco, clearly infuriated. “I’m trapped here as well, in case you haven’t noticed, bitch!”

“Hey don’t you call her that-“ shouted Blaise.

“We wouldn’t be here if weren’t for you!" Yelled Pansy.

“Oh my fucking God,” said Theo, he stooped down as if he was about to get sick. “Is this what your fucking family has been hiding from the public? How much money did they use to stop the former tenants from talking?"

"I -DON'T-FUCKING-KNOW!" Roared Draco, "my mother never told me a bloody thing!" 

"If she knew, why did she send you here then?" Asked Blaise. 

"I -DON'T-KNOW!" Draco looked like he was about to explode from inside. 

"Is this what happened to those tenants? They ended trapped here forever until -” Theo paused, panting heavily.

Fear seized all of them. 

“Until someone died,” Luna finished his sentence calmly. “It’s quite simple if you think about the pattern.”

“Well, that’s just fucking brilliant! Fifty points to Ravenclaw!” Yelled Pansy, she looked like she was about to go mental. “So we’ve only got to figure out which one of us to murder the next! Ha!”

“SHUT IT!” Hermione shouted at the top of her lungs, “everybody, calm the fuck down! it’s not the time to get into a meaningless row. We have to work on this together and figure out a way to get the hell out-”

“Well, didn’t Lovegood already tell us?” Snapped Pansy. “SOMEBODY’S GOTTA DIE!”

And then she broke down, collapsed on the lowest of the steps in front of the door and buried her face into her hands.

“What the hell was I thinking?” She sobbed. “Oh Merlin, if I ever get out of here, I swear on Salazar’s grave that I’d never try to hook up with any of my ex boyfriends again. And Draco isn’t even the hottest of them!”

“Good to know,” said Draco sarcastically. 

Hermione took a deep breath, stepped away from the crowd, and put her wand on her palm.

 _“Point me,”_ she said firmly.

The wand spinned in her palm, and pointed back at the house.

She let out a sigh, and walked up the steps in large strides.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” Said Theo.

“The library,” said Hermione without looking back.

“Wait. I’m coming with you,” said Luna. She ran behind her. And they disappeared behind the front doors together.

Draco’s lips curled into a faint smile.

“Well,” he said, “look at the bright side, we’re stuck here with Granger. If anyone’s gonna figure out how to break this curse, it’s got to be her.”

Theo didn’t say anything. But Blaise shrugged in agreement.

Pansy burst into a derisive laugh, and said, “how incredibly naive and stupid you are. I bet a thousand Galleons that those two aren’t trying to figure out how to break the curse right now in the library.”

“What d’you reckon they’re doing then?” Said Draco irritably, “reading for leisure?”

“Figuring out how to kill one of us, of course.” Said Pansy coldly. “If we’re smart, we should be plotting to kill one of them. The game is on.” 

The boys looking at her in disbelief.

“You’re insane,” said Draco finally. 

"Nobody's going to die," said Blaise. 

“You keep telling yourself that, love. We're fucking done for, don't you see it?" scoffed Pansy, and took out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket with shaking hands. 

Draco shook his head, then he walked up the steps and went back into the house. Blaise and Theo followed him. 


	3. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper

It seemed the fog veiled Malfoy Manor was never going to end.

It had been three days since the Manor shut them in. Every single night, the creepy footsteps would walk down the corridor, stop in front of each room, and then began to attack Hermione’s bedroom door, pounding and slamming on it and tried to carve the “MUDBLOOD” into the door.

They tried switching rooms with Hermione, but it didn’t work. The thing - whatever it was - seemed to be able to detect her.

And that wasn’t the worst. On the morning of the fourth day, the house-elf told them that they were running low on food.

“Perfect,” said Pansy sulkily, “This just keeps getting better and better.”

Hermione couldn’t help but noticing that the black circles under her eyes were worse than everybody. Although, she was usually the one that could sleep through the night when the attack happened.

She said she’d silencio her door before she went to sleep.

But the others never did it, especially when the vicious attacks were happening to Hermione every night.

“Ok,” said Blaise, looking determined. “I think it’s time we do something. We should ambush that thing tonight.”

“No,” said Hermione. “Before we figure out what it was, it could be very dangerous and I don’t want to see anybody hurt.”

“But we’re running out of time,” said Theo. “We’ll starve to death in another week.”

Hermione sighed.

“Just give me a bit more time,” she said pleadingly. “I’m going through all the books in the library.”

The others were helping as well. Everyday, except eating, they spent all the time in the library, trying to figure out what Hermione’s attacker could be.

They also tried to look for the ghost of the lady in white. But she seemed to be extremely evasive. Draco saw her once as well, but when he tried to catch up with her, she just disappeared into the wall.

“So,” Theo shut close a tome and complained, “I don’t find anything about a mad house shutting people inside. Nothing.”

“I thought I told you to focus on the attacker,” said Hermione sharply. She was usually snarky when she was in her scholar’s mood.

“But that won’t solve our imminent problem, will it?” said Theo. “I’d never imagine myself saying this, but I really want to see my mum and dad, and sleep in my own fucking bed!”

“Like I already told you one hundred times,” snapped Hermione. Her curls were pinned in a bun on top of her head with her wand, and she looked like an exploding owl. “This attacker is a trace. To track a curse, you’ve got to look for the trace. All magic, no matter how trivial or advanced it is, always leaves traces -”

“Ok, ok, Professor,”said Theo with rolling eyes. “back to search the attacker…”

Draco had been perched on a sofa, reading for the past hour without making any sound. Suddenly he dropped the book, and said, “Granger.”

Hermione looked up, “what?”

“We might’ve missed something.”

“What?” She said again.

“There’s…” he said. “There’s another section of books in the Manor. It’s in the cellar. Under the ground. My father hid some of his sketchy stuff there. The Aurors had confiscated all the dark-magic items, of course, but some of the books, and the old journals from our ancestors might still be there-”

Theo threw a book at him, and Draco dodged.

“And it took you four fucking days to remember this?” Theo yelled. “Really, Draco Lucius Malfoy?”

“That place had been sealed since my father went to Azkaban,” said Draco. “It’s not like it’s right on top of my mind - ”

“Bloody tosser,” said Theo, “well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go for your daddy’s best stash!”

“Actually it was a very small room,” muttered Draco. “I can only take one person with me.”

“Well, take Granger,” said Blaise. “She’s got the biggest brain.”

Hermione pulled her wand out of her hair, her wild curls fell on her shoulders.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go. I really hope we find something.”

***

The stone stairs leading down into the cellar was cold, dim, and sinister.

Draco walked down first, and muttered “Lumos”. Hermione did the same. The light from their wand lit up the way.

The air was stifling in the cellar. It smelled damp, moldy, and something rotten. It was very unpleasant. 

“We should’ve brought some candles,” she said, shivering. “Do you mind if I conjure a fire?”

“Go ahead,” said Draco.

Hermione muttered something, and conjured some dancing, blue flames in her palm. The fire lit up the cellar better, and Draco walked down the narrow way. His heels clicked loudly on the stones, and when he stopped in front of a stone wall in the deepest corner of the cellar, Hermione found an empty torch on the wall, and left the fire in the torch.

“Let’s hope they didn’t change the password,” said Draco.

“There’s a password?”

“Of course,” he said. “And it’s not just that.”

“What else?” Hermione said, a bit nervously.

But he already acted. He conjured a silver blade with his wand, and then, with a short squeal from Hermione, he cut his finger and hissed in pain.

“And the blood of a Malfoy’s heir,” he said through gritted teeth. “Yes, my father's a real drama queen.”

He pressed his finger on the stone wall, and shouted loudly and clearly, "Sanctimonia Vincet Semper!”

A loud, deep, rumbling noise came from deep beneath their feet. The stone wall began shimmering in the darkness, and rippled like the surface of a silver winter lake.

And Hermione felt it again - the same sickness, coldness and numbness she felt before when she fainted on the gravel drive way.

The sick feelings were much stronger and more overwhelming; but luckily Draco was right next to her this time and when she fell, he grabbed her arm to steady her.

And the moment he grabbed her something happened. She felt lucid; the dizziness and the sickness were gone.

He let go of her, and the sick feeling was back again.

Without too much thinking, she seized his hand and pulled herself back into him with a strong yank. She buried her face in his chest, panting heavily. 

"Don't let me go," she whispered desperately. 

He didn't move or push her away. 

“What's the matter?” He asked after a short pause. 

“I just…” she said. “I feel better when you're near.”

The smile on his lips deepened. She knew that he must’ve understood it in the wrong way. She knew that he was going to say something to mock her again, so she opened her mouth to explain.

“It’s not what you think -” She began.

“Granger,” he said in a unusually gentle tone. Then he lifted another hand and put it on her cheek. His dove-grey eyes were softer than the velvety evening sky.

She froze in the sudden shock, and then came the realization -

_But it can’t be._

_She’d never. Not in a thousand years…_

“I’ll never let you go,” he whispered. 

“I was saying…” she said, her breath had become shallow and fast. “Do you remember why I fainted the first time we arrived?”

“Yes. You said you felt something dark and sick,” he said. His fingers raked into her hair, and she trembled all over. “Why?”

“Because…”she said. “I felt it again. I assume the magic is coming from here. And when you touched me, the sickness is gone. I don’t know why.”

“Hmm,” he said. “That’s a bit disappointing.”

“No, Draco, I-”

“Never mind,” he stepped back and his right hand dropped. But his left hand was still holding her hand tightly. “Ready to go in?”

As long as he was still touching her, skin to skin, she couldn't feel that sickness. 

“Yeah,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I’m ready. What was that latin phrase you said?”

“Oh that,” he scoffed as he pulled the handle to open the silver metal door. “It’s just my family motto.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s daft, really…”

“But what does it mean?”

“You just don’t give up, do you?” He conceded, “all right. It means purity will always conquer.”

A thought flashed through her mind.

“Is that why I can withstand this house’s dark magic when you’re holding my hand?” She asked. “Because you’re a pureblood. And somehow by having flesh contact with you, the muggle-born repelling magic can’t get to me anymore.”

There was a furrow in his eye brows.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps.”

They walked into the room behind the door. It was a crammed, small room with cobwebs and rusts on the metal decorations on the walls and ceiling. There was a large, display cabinet which had taken up the entire wall. But the shelves were empty, and the glasses were broken.

“I always hated to be here,” Draco muttered. “This place used to freak me out when I was a kid.”

“I’m sorry,” said Hermione softly.

He didn’t say anything else, but bent down and opened the drawers under the cabinet. And he was right. Not everything was taken. There were many volumes of old books and journals there. Some looked rather battered and fragile.

“Don’t expect to find anything about dark magic here,” said Draco. “These were just records of our family history that my father and his ancestors before him took pride in. They were basically junk.”

“Let’s bring then upstairs,” said Hermione. “All of them. Maybe we’ll find something.”

“Sure,” he said.

They used the levitating charm to make all the books float in the air and moved with them when they walked out of the cellar.

And when they were back in the foyer, she took out her hand from his grip.

“It’s fine now,” she said. “Thank you.”

***

Everyone seemed disappointed when they realized there was only Malfoy’s family journal in the cellar, but Hermione insisted it could be useful and wanted to go through all of them.

She spent the entire afternoon reading those crispy, yellow pages, and Luna helped her.

After dinner, which was a small portion of baked beans for each of them, they hurried back to the library.

“I think I’ve found something,” said Luna’s musical, airy voice.

Everyone looked at her with intense expectations.

“Well, it’s not much,” said Luna. “I still don’t know how to break the curse of the house or who is Hermione’s attacker, but listen to this-”

She cleared her throat, and continued -

_“January 15th, 1875. I believe that husband has tainted the Manor forever. There’s no way to wash off his sins. Our sins. Twenty-eight muggles were murdered ruthlessly in the dungeon today, each by an heir from one of the sacred twenty-eight pureblood families. When my husband told me what he had accomplished, I felt sick. I wanted to cry and run away from this house. But I couldn’t. I’m just a woman trapped in my destiny that had been mapped out for me since the day I was born as Lucretia Black. I hate being so helpless."_

She paused, and there was a deadly silence in the room.

“Fucking hell,” said Theo, “I’ve never heard of this bogshit.”

“Does this mean your ancestor did it too?” Said Blaise in disgust. “It’s abhorrent.”

“Yours I can believe,” said Hermione.”But imagine a Weasley or a Longbottom did it too…”

“I didn’t know about it either,” said Draco. He looked a bit pale.

“I know,” said Pansy. She was sitting on the floor next to Blaise with her chin propped in one hand. “My mother used to tell me as bedtime story. But I never thought it was true."

Luna continued -

_“This was very old, dark magic that we should never have touched, and I knew that we’re going to pay the price. But my husband didn’t believe me. He, along with the heirs from other families, believed that this curse could bring them ultimate power over muggles and muggle-borns, making them kings and queens of the world._

She turned a few pages before she continued again -

_“June 1st, 1875._

_But it didn’t work. And it backfired. Slowly, those who had participated in that ritual died one by one. And the curse continued in our lines. Some were luckier, some less. The Greengrasses got the blood curse. The Blacks and Gaunts were bound to madness._ _As for us, the Malfoys, we were prong to be infected or injured by magical beasts. My personal fortune teller told me that in the future, we have to be aware of dragons and Hippogriffs…”_

“My grandfather died of dragon pox,” said Draco. His lips, if possible, were drained of blood. “And I was attacked by a Hippogriff…”

“To be fair, you brought that onto yourself,” said Blaise.

“I also didn’t do everything Hagrid said, but the beast didn’t attack me,” said Theo.

“Listen,” said Luna, her finger moved down the ancient, yellow and fragile pages of Lucretia Malfoy’s journal. _“The ritual brought other repercussions. Our house now has developed its own will. I’m not sure about the others, but so far, it had happened to us, the Greengrasses, the Blacks, the Averys, the Carrows, and the Lestranges.”_

_“March 12th, 1879. Since my husband died, I’ve been trying to find out what exactly is happening to the Manor. I do not yet fully understand it, but from what I know, the Manor is soaked with dark magic and it erodes people’s mind, driving them more and more extreme the longer they live here. The less you live in this house, the more sane you'd be._

_“May 5th, 1885. I’ve just witnessed the most dangerous thing the Manor could do. When it felt trespassed by ‘unworthy visitors’, and when the ‘unworthy visitors’ are enjoying hospitality instead of being punished, the house will take its own actions. It would shut everyone in. Nobody could get in or out until the ‘unworthy one’ is dead. This is horrific. However, I was forced to sworn an unbreakable vow to keep it a secret.”_

Luna stopped reading, and everybody fell silent again.

“So,” said Theo. “This fucking house somehow get its own ideas and would act out every time someone it doesn’t fancy walks into its door. Is that right?”

“Fucking hell,” said Blaise. "Is that why those tenants died? 'cause they were muggle-borns?" 

“God,” said Pansy. “So that’s why many of the sacred twenty eights abandoned their ancestry house in the beginning of last century. I’ve heard the rumours. Mine did too. But some didn’t, like the Blacks and the Malfoys and the Gaunts...”

“The maddest ones,” snorted Theo.

They fell silent again.

Hermione took a deep breath, and said, “I guess I’m the unwelcome one then. I’ve got to die if we can - if you can get out.”

“Nonsense,” said Draco quickly.

“Bollocks,” said Theo rudely. “Nobody’s going to die. You’re smart. Figure out something, damn it!”

Hermione bit her lips.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” said Draco finally. “We need some sleep.”

There were murmurs of agreement.

“I might have an idea,” said Hermione.

“Finally!” Theo clapped his hands, “I knew it! Quick. Spit it out, Granger.”

“The attacker that has been visiting me every night,” said Hermione, “I believe it was manipulated by this house.”

“And?” Said Theo.

Everyone else was staring at her intently as well, even Pansy.

“I have enough reason to believe that I’ve found a flaw of this house's plan,” she said. “It can’t influence me when I touch Draco.”

Another silence. The awkward kind.

“Bloody hell,” said Theo. “You and Draco…you two…”

“Are you shagging him?”Asked Pansy, looking shocked.

“No! But that’s not the point,” Said Hermione impatiently. “God, don’t you people know how to sort priorities?”

“Just for your information,” shrugged Pansy. “Shag him as much as you want if you can get us out of this fucking house. I don’t give a damn.”

Hermione ignored what she said and continued, “I figured that if I stayed in the same room with a pureblood...tonight, that thing wouldn’t be able to tell. And when it was confused, we might have a chance to take it down.”

“And how is that going to help us beat the house?” Asked Blaise.

“I don’t know,” said Hermione. “We’ll have to try and see.”

Luna took in a deep breath, and put one soft hand on Hermione’s shoulder.

“Let’s do this then,” she said gently. “You can’t stay with me. My mother was a muggle-born.”

Hermione looked at Pansy, whose nose wrinkled in detest and snapped right away, “no way. I’m not going to spend the night with you.”

“What about your new boyfriend?” Smirked Theo. “Yeah, Draco?”

“We’re not…” he said. “It’s not like that you think!”

“Well then,” said Theo. “D'you want her to pick one between me and Blaise?”

“No!” said Draco immediately, a bit over-defensive, and over-heated.

Hermione looked up in surprise.

Theo chuckled, even Blaise and Pansy let out a chortle.

“Blimey,” said Theo. “What a pathetic lot are we. We're about to die and we're laughing about those two shagging.”

They spent another hour in the library and figured out a plan.

Around half past ten, they went upstairs together.

After they said good night, everybody went into their own rooms except Hermione and Draco. They looked at each other, a bit awkwardly, and then they blurted out together -

“I should go-” Said Hermione.

“Which room do you -” Said Draco.

Then then stopped, and Hermione looked away with a smile.

“You were saying?” Draco said.

“I was just saying I should go grab some of my stuff,” she said. “And you were saying?”

“Which room d'you prefer? Mine or yours?”

It was a simple question, but somehow she felt a lurch in her stomach and her ears burning up.

“Probably yours,” she muttered. “Because it could create more confusion.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”

She quickly gathered the things she needed, and went into his bedroom across the corridor. 

He closed the door behind her.

So the fifth night in the haunted Manor had begun, and the ancient, evil house had no idea that it was being hunted. 


End file.
